The Universalist. [volume] (Chicago [Ill.]) 1884-1897, 1887-04-09
in her softest tones, and when the March

Mays pupils had dilated, and there was
suspicion Of tears in them, and the March
ioness' eyes were as sympatheticaIly ten
der-but could she send an old man to
the poor-bouse? Not shel-and in that
royal way of hers she dropped some plen.
tiful coin into the old mans hand. and
then, without waiting for thanks, drove
on; but something impelled her to give a
backward look-the sorrowful, bent fig
ure appealed to her. She turned her car
rage and returned to him-so some dumb
hope Of what he knew not Frightened in
his eyes.
The Marchioness bent from her car
riage, saying. 81 live some miles from
here, on the direct road, in house sur.
rounded by oak trees; when you have
reached it tell the foreman that you have
my permission to remain there a few
days, and them" she added, "when you
have rested, we will see what can be done
for you" Then after giving him a few
more explicit directions, she left him; and
there was hope in his heart; when he
should reach the ranch there was rest
and oh, he was so weary. God had not for
gotten him. And the bright day, seemed
even brighter to the Marchioness and her
niece.
How kind you are," said May, turning
beaming eyes upon the Marchioness.
"How thankful he was" said the
Marchioness and the good deed lightened
her heart of some burdens that she car
ried. At night, when the Marchiouess
and her niece had returned, and were
seated at their cosy tea, cloud sat upon
the Marchioness' brow; but in the obliv-
iousness of youth, unmindful of this, her
niece chatted merrily on Suddenly the
Marchioness turned to me as 1 was pass
ing the bread. "Maria," she asked, did
an old man come here to day?' 81 do
not know, madam" I replied.
The cloud gathered on the March
ioness' brow-she recalled the sad be-
seeching hands and eyes-she could not
rest until she had seen the foreman. No,
there had been none there that day.
"Oh," said May, all the bright color and
animation gone from her face, ooh, I
wonder where he is tonight, and when
an hour atterward, accompanied her to
her room, her manner was still subdued.
ooh, Maria" she said "where can that
poor old man be to-night?' The corners
of her sweet mouth were dropping and
her eyes were brimful of tears; but when
shortly after, left her, she was fact
asleep, her rosy, smiling face plunged
deep into the white pillows youth soon
forgets.
When I returned to the sitting room
the Warehouses was deep in business,
but on retiring, she said, SHOULD the
old man arrive in my absence, be sure to
detain him." Several days after this
conversation, as May was watering the
plants in the yard, the "old gentlemen"
as we called him, tottered in at the
gate-hungry, thirsty and foot.sore. May
recognized him at a glance, and came
rushing to the sitting roem where I was
engaged in busting, crying out: COB,
Maria! he has come, he has Gomez
I knew who she meant, for even at
that moment my thoughts were busy
with him. [ followed May to the back
porch where the poor old man stood alb
jectly as if asking ones pardon for being.
He looked imploringly at me, as if from
former experience, expecting to be Or
dered away; but when l informed him,
that this was OAK Haven, and gave him
the message that the Marchioness had
left him, he clasped his trembling
hands, and thanked God. 81 have been
wandering about" he said, sleeping
in the open fields, and I feared that
L had passed the ranch-my feet we're so
sore and my sight so dim, that L could
make but little heedway." I conducted
him to the mems sitting room, a neat,
cheerful place, and left him to rest, tell
ing him that when the dinner bell rang
to accompany the men to the dining
room where ne would find an extra plate
and chair awaiting him.
He sat bewildered, he could hardly be-
lieve in his good fortune. ooh, to rest
to restP' had been his plea for many
weary days after many tempestuous
voyages. he had at last reached haven
of content. God, indeed, had not forgot
ten him. A pleasant room was assigned
to the wanderer, and he soon adjusted
himself to the situation.
Quiet and unobtrusive in all his ways
he was kindly received by the ranch
men, to whom, amidst the grinding whirr
and whirl OF work = aged, and past the
activities of life, be was pleasant con-
trast He became familiar object in
the landscape as he took his daily morn
ing walk; a gray-haired man of many
years, leaning upon his cane venera-
able figure, that softened and humanized
the perspective.
Each day, after the men had gone to
their work, May and called upon the
old gentlemen, whom we always surpris.
ed with his hat drawn low over his brows,
in an attitude of deep detection.
Upon our entrance his hat would be
thrust hastily aside, and he would give
us a smile of welcome and would chat
with us in hght-hearted manner, most |
engaging but something evidently prey
ed uDon the eDirits of Our old Oentlanoan